Prompted Drabbles
by livingstorywriter101
Summary: I have writers block and want to get rid of it. Thought I'd look up the prompt tables I've heard of and go with one fandome on them. Thought I'd post them. Read em if you want to, but please review if you do. Gonna rate it T just incase.
1. Evidence

Rotti Largo looked at his oldest son, Luigi, with an expression of horror. Luigi was covered in blood and it wasn't his own. Small red specks were visible all over his white shirt while the knife in his hand was completely covered, stained with a dried crimson colored substance. No remorse or fear was visible on his face, in fact he looked happy…almost excited. Everything about the image was all the evidence anyone would need to put Luigi away. It was evident that Luigi was a sociopath, yes a sociopath. He could be helped… it was only one Gentern, right?

**(Don't care what stupid FF says, Word said it was 100 words even and I'm going with that. My attempt to break a bad case of writers block is to look up prompt challanges and I found a thing with a bunch of prompts so each chapter'll be a different 100 word thing based off a prompt. Hopefully it'll help with the writers block and whoever reads this will enjoy it.)**


	2. I'm Here

I'm here, where I want to be. Not there, where I _should_ be. I have my needs don't I, why should theirs come before mine? The agony is too much… I NEED to feel nothing, nothing at all. I'm supposed to be helping with the support network, what about the support I need though? I'm not pretty enough, I need another surgery daddy. Oh… it hurts too much, I need to kill the pain, feel alive but numb at the same time. I'm here, why don't you love me dad? I'm here for you now daddy… I love you daddy.


	3. Funeral

A funeral, three in a row. All of them connected but all of them different. One is a singer, one is business man and one is a killer. But all of them are a parent of some sort. Two are fathers and one is a godmother. All three are leaving but joining the one that binds them together. A friend to one, a wife to another and an ex lover to the third. It's a sad funeral for all, even if they fought or acted as if they wouldn't care in the least, it hurts for everyone. Tears for each.


	4. Puppy Love

She doesn't know him well, but that doesn't stop the love. Just because they've only just met doesn't mean they aren't meant for each other. Their circumstances of meeting are strange, but who really cares about that? He's the first man, aside from her father, she's ever met, but so what? Some might call it puppy love, but she knows it's more. They've both been through so much together and in such a short period of time, doesn't that count for anything? Puppy love is for children and she's seventeen, she knows that she's too mature to have a crush.


	5. Gloves

His gloves are dirty, much too dirty to clean completely. No matter how spotless they appear to be, they're covered in his victims' blood. With each slice a new stain is added. He knows it's wrong of him to do, but it's his job and, more importantly, it's how he maintains his image as he loving father. He doesn't want this job, but he has to continue on with it if he doesn't want his secret blown to the only person in his life that even matters now. It's far too late to turn back now, just keep moving forward.


	6. Blackboard

My slate is clean, like a black board that's just been wiped of all the chalk on it. I'm no longer in debt and I can live happily now. I'll never have to worry about my family being left without me again, not now that I'm completely paid off. Oh… a new pair of eyes? My vision had become a bit duller over the years. A new spine? My back does hurt more and more as the days pass. These are such small marks to add… why not? It is my slate and they are meant to be written on.


	7. Muse

_Sometimes I wonder why I ever got in… _why did I ever get into graverobbing? To pay off my debt… but why didn't I leave when I'd finished paying it off? That answer is simple, because I enjoy the rush of almost getting caught. _Sometimes I wonder why they need me at all…_ no, that's not true. I know why they need me, to get the thing to kill the pain they long to escape, at an affordable cost. I'm a graverobber, simple as that. _It's my job to steal and rob graves._ But for now I'll muse about it.


	8. Magic

It's like magic, making it so I can feel nothing at all but feel alive at the same time. It kills the pain but helps the life. I love the feeling of it, it makes me happy. Why should I have to pay so much more for it when I can just get it from some graverobber? Zydrate, that beautiful, glowing, blue substance in those little glass vials that goes into a gun like a battery. When the gun is placed somewhere against my anatomy, it sparks and that magic makes it so I'm ready for surgery. The pain's gone.


	9. Clean

Clean… what is considered clean in a world like this? Everywhere you turn the smell of death hangs in the air, dried blood on the pavement almost everywhere you look and passed out Zydrate junkies on every corner. My job is to clean the blood away from the streets but why clean away what will just reappear the next day? Is there a point to any of the cleaning attempted by the public when the filth will just reappear or never fade away? I have to wonder what this world, the horrible world I'm living in, would ever consider clean.


	10. Secret

I'm the one that killed her, but that's a secret I'll take to my grave. I can use this against him since he thinks it's his fault, what an idiot to not consider it could be my fault in the first place. Well, he's an idiot to have taken her from me in the first place, but that's beside the point now. My children are idiots as well, thinking they'll inherit my company, I see them as nothing more than disgraces to my name, but that's also a secret. No one will ever know my secrets. Not yet at least.


	11. Superstition

Superstition… if I gave a crap about that bullshit I'd have to wonder just how many times my younger brother, Pavichi, had gotten seven years bad luck by breaking those little mirrors he's always staring into, millions probably. Or how often my sister, Amber, has tried to find four-leaf-clovers in an attempt to get her 'lucky' break in the music industry, more mirrors than Pavichis' face has broken probably. Or how many times Nathan Wallace has freaked over his daughter stepping on a crack even though his wife is long since dead. Huh, superstition… what a load of utter crap.


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